The Heroism of Madame Magloire
by Sarah1281
Summary: When Madame Magloire is tasked with bringing a deerskin to the fearsome man the bishop invited to stay the night, she finds herself forced to see past the convenient convict label and form an opinion on the man himself.


The Heroism of Madame Magloire

Note: Based on an idea from columbina on tumblr.

Madame Magloire wondered how she had ever thought that things would end differently.

A dangerous man, a convict even, terrorizing the town and shut out from everywhere? Had the man not come to them she would not have been surprised if the Bishop went out to find this man and bring him back to them. She had been so frightened when he had stormed in, murder in his eyes.

The Bishop was not concerned, of course. The Bishop, she secretly suspected, would be able to face down a demon with not the slightest bit of unease. This man, she had to admit, was not quite a demon.

She had not seen much of the man, having been preparing his room during their meal, but a few words here and there had floated up to her. She had been scandalized that this man, this beggar off the street, would dare to criticize the table kept by the Bishop. The Bishop was not _poor_; he made sacrifices in spreading his great wealth.

Then it had occurred to her that she had expected some degree of tact from a convict. How strange.

Mademoiselle Baptistine's fear – as strong as Magloire's at first – had dissipated the minute it became clear that her brother was not distressed. Magloire did not feel that same sense of supreme confidence as did Mademoiselle Baptistine but she did find it a little difficult to fear for her life when both brother and sister were so calm about it.

And when had the Bishop had been wrong about these things? Every time she had expected him to be robbed or murdered in the past he had returned either the same as he had left or even better off than before, most notably with the oft-told tale of the charitable mountain bandits. After a while it became difficult to continually expect death and destruction when it never occurred.

And now Mademoiselle Baptistine had bid her to bring the fine deerskin from her own bed to that man's. Mademoiselle Baptistine had another blanket but the night was cold and the deerskin was far warmer but Magloire would not dream of trying to talk her out of her charity, especially charity so clearly inspired by her brother the Bishop. It would not work, for one, but even if she thought it would she did not believe that she would find it within herself to attempt it.

She knocked on the door of the alcove, noticing that the Bishop must have gone out to the garden, and after a moment the man opened it warily.

"What?" he demanded gruffly.

"I have brought a deerskin for you," Magloire told him, holding it up for him to see.

The man's eyes widened and he opened the door a little more to allow her to enter the room. "Why?"

What a strange question, one that she was not certain how to answer. "The night is cold and Mademoiselle Baptistine was concerned."

Hesitantly the man reached out and his fingers brushed against the fur. "You really mean for me to have use of this?"

"The deerskin belongs to Mademoiselle Baptistine and she wills it," Magloire said simply. She held it out to him.

Encouraged, the man took the deerskin in his arms and looked almost reverently down at it. "What a fine thing this is!"

Magloire remembered from years ago when the deerskin had been brand new and recently brought back from the Black Forest of Germany. It had truly been a sight then! Mademoiselle Baptistine had been so proud to have received such a fine gift and the Bishop, though not a bishop yet, had been pleased to have been the cause of his sister's great joy.

Though the deerskin had been carefully looked after, many years had passed since then and it was no longer in as good a condition as it once was. The fur had long-since begun falling out but it was still a fine deerskin. It was worthy of admiration and she was pleased to see that this man was giving it the consideration that it was due.

Reluctantly tearing his eyes away from it, the man held it back out to her. "It is much too good for me. Take it."

It occurred to Magloire that she may have had a vague thought along the same lines when Mademoiselle Baptistine had first made her request but she was not still feeling that way and she made no move to take it.

The man shook his head helplessly. "All of this…I do not…Why do you all do this? I have known priests before. The prison chaplain did not like his post and despised us. Before the galleys the priests did not hate but they were not so good even to regular people and would certainly not be so to one such as me. I do not understand this."

And there it was again. Aside from the brief lack of tact that, on reflection, really did seem borne out of concern that the Bishop should live better (something she herself had often said and tried to encourage in him), the words he spoke had all been of pain so habitual that it did not seem to even upset him anymore. That and the most effusive stunned gratitude for every small bit of kindness that the Bishop showed him.

Magloire knew that, despite the difficulties she often faced trying to make the meager allowance the Bishop had set up for living expenses last throughout the year, she was very fortunate to be able to serve the Bishop. Such kindness and charity as sometimes moved desperate men to tears was just another part of her own life.

Of course the Bishop would not let a man who was turned out of everywhere sleep in a doorway when they had a perfectly good spare bed! If there was no spare bed then the Bishop would no doubt have given up his own bed to the man. And he had been so hungry and they did, really, have enough to go around. It was only good manners to use the formal you and Monsieur when speaking with someone that they did not know very well. And to give a guest some extra coverings on a cold night was only being a good hostess. These were such small things and they looked like they might overwhelm him.

"My master believes in helping those in need," she said simply. She had noted how the Bishop had refrained from making his true rank known no matter _how _many times this man had called him a mere priest. Though she did not understand it, she would not undermine him here.

"I am a convict!" he exclaimed, looking utterly lost.

A wave of sudden pity came over her then. It was one thing to believe that a convict should not be treated like honest men should. Had she not sought locks for the door mere hours ago because of this man's presence? But somehow knowing that this man believed he should be mistreated as well and did not deserve any basic consideration or anything but the absolute worst the world had to offer…that was different, somehow. Had he not come begging to stay in their stable and offered up everything he had for the privilege when they had a perfectly good spare bed?

"He does not care."

"He must want something," Jean Valjean insisted but his voice lacked conviction.

"He seeks only to help those in need," Magloire assured him. "Wake me up if I am still sleeping when you have to leave tomorrow. I believe you said you had to set out very early."

Valjean nodded distractedly. "I do. Monsieur l'Abbe told me that he would give me a glass of warm milk from your cows tomorrow."

Magloire nodded, not at all surprised. "I will make breakfast before you go."

Valjean started. "That is really too much-"

"Nonsense," she interrupted. "You are a guest and in this house we do not send guests away without breakfast."

He returned to staring at the deerskin in his hands, exhaustion almost radiating off of him.

She wished him goodnight and, after praying with Mademoiselle Baptistine, returned to her room. After a moment of consideration, she did not latch her door.

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